Post by Morgan le Faye on Nov 15, 2014 16:41:59 GMT
Every magician remembers their first trick. It’s impossible not to. The first time you manage to perform a trick in front of someone, hearing that applause, it sticks with you. It’s like a first kiss or a first love or your first time hearing your favorite song. You remember when, where, who, everything down to the finest detail. My first trick was making a toothpick disappear in front of a crowd of three, my parents and my older sister. The cat was there too, but she was more interested in being lazy.
I still remember them applauding me. But they sort of had to. I was only seven years old, that precious age where you are just old enough to start getting into trouble but just young enough where you can still claim not to have known any better. For my birthday that year I wanted a magic kit. I didn’t know any better at the time, I had just seen some magic set at the dollar store; cheap plastic crap that was somehow worth even less than the one dollar price tag.
Instead I got a book on magic, one meant for beginners. And a few days after my birthday, I made a toothpick disappear using only my hands. Of course as in any magic there’s a ‘trick’ to it, but the point of magic isn’t to find out the trick behind it. It’s to be amazed. It’s to make yourself believe that what you’re seeing is someone who has magical powers. One of the oaths magicians swear by is to never say that they have supernatural powers. That invalidates the entire point of the performance. We’re not witches and wizards. We’re not graduates of Hogwarts. Magic isn’t real, that’s the point. But I’m a magician. My job is to make it seem like magic IS real. To wow. To amaze. To rekindle the awe and imagination in people who are older and more cynical. If I can have one person leaving with a smile, I consider it a job well done.
Magicians may not be rock stars selling out Madison Square Garden, but ours is rare career. Plenty of magicians try to turn it into some comedy act. Fail at stand up? Throw in a few sleight of hand tricks and try again. That way when no one laughs at your joke you can still get applause by pulling a quarter out from behind someone’s ear. Magicians are magicians first, not comedians or musicians or something else used to drum up the act. Magic itself is an amazing thing when done right. Too many people are trying to cheapen the brand.
I may never sell out the Garden and I may never get my own Vegas stageshow, but I love the craft and sometimes that’s all you need. I always thought I’d just be a purist when it came to magic. Adhering to the Magician’s Oath and always showing up with a smile regardless of where it is. A professional. As with any job there are down moments, but even if I sometimes feel like the last of a dying breed, I still wouldn’t give up this profession of mine. And whenever I feel like quitting I simply remember my first magic trick.
My performance at a wrestling fan event was one of those performances that had me thinking of the toothpick disappearing in my hands. I was really missing birthday parties. I’m not sure why this company hired me, a magician, to entertain people before they went in to see an anniversary show. I’m not affiliated with the company in any way. I guess they needed something to fill out the card. Little booth games and autograph signings weren’t enough, toss in a magician why not.
My audience could barely sit still. Kids mostly, but near the back were teens and adults, some there with their kids and some there clearly just to laugh at me. I’m a sideshow to them, some kind of carnival freak. I’m wearing a top hat and there’s a cummerbund around my waist. Add to the black jacket, white dress up collared shirt, fancy black skirt, and my heeled boots and I can’t blame them for their snickering. I’m dressed more for a wedding or a funeral than a magic show. But I’m a traditionalist. The attire is almost as important as the magic.
But this crowd is only here to kill time. Some of them are talking to each other, talking over my act, but what can I do? All I can do is perform. All I can do is cough a dove out of my mouth and make a show of almost letting it fly away; it’s not even a real dove, but from the right distance it’s hard to tell. None of them are fooled. None of them are impressed. Not even when I shove my wand through one ear and pull it out of my boot. But I go on. I perform. The show must go on.
After my show, a few parents came up to me to shake my hand and praise my performance. They’re being polite, bless them. I saw most of them checking their phones every two minutes. I appreciate the gesture, of course, but it rings hollow. Another show finished. Another trip to my van. Welcome to the world of magic.
The company that hired me thought it nicethat in addition to my typical booking fee for events they would give me a ticket to their show. I had thought of just pawning it off, wrestling had never been something that I spent a lot of time watching – my dad was a fan and my sister dated a guy on the wrestling team in high school, that was the extent of my exposure. But when in Rome, right?
It didn’t take me long to understand why the crowd for my show was so uninterested in my performance. Why would they be interested in seeing some top hat wearing woman twirling her hands about when on the regular they watch bodies defy gravity and laugh in the face of injury and pain? Why would they care that I can pull things out of my hat when they are watching people whose mere PRESENCE causes an explosion and fanfare?
This was the new breed of magic show.
Of course I knew that the explosion was just a team of engineers doing a pyrotechnic display, just like how my sister knew that the toothpick I made disappear was really just tucked away behind my hand thanks to being inserted into the loop of a ring I was wearing. But that’s not the point. The fun of magic is in letting your mind believe that what you’re seeing is real. I live in the magic world, so when I see someone appear in a puff of smoke and fire, I don’t just think about the prep work in the pyrotechnics. I believe he is just that kind of person that summons up flames. A magician.
And the crowd can’t get enough. This was magical to them. The people in that ring their magicians. And no one wore a top hat. No cummerbunds and coattails. But magical all the same.
Suddenly I was at my friend’s birthday party again, seeing magic for the first time. Suddenly I remember the feeling of thinking magic was real. And suddenly I’m cheering right along with the crowd. I don’t know who any of these people are…but I’m amazed. I’m mesmerized. I’m in love with magic all over again.
I want to be that.
I want to be that kind of magician.
The sun is down by the time the show ends and I retreat to the safety of my van. I’m smiling like I’ve not smiled before in my life. And this time, I’m the one making the call. Tony Hughes, full time chef, part time manager for Miss Morgan le Faye, is all too happy to pick up my call. Still so full of hope that we’ll get back together, that Tony.
I told him my wish.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
He was not supportive.
His first point was solid. What did I know about wrestling? What did I know about squaring off against one or more person? Sure, I went to the gym but that was to maintain a healthy life rather than for strength training.
But why not me? Why couldn’t I? I’m a performer. I live for the performance, for the thrill of the crowd. I’m a magician. And so were the ones who flew off the ropes. So were the ones who came out in pyro. Magicians with different practices, but magicians all the same.
So why not me?
“Tony…I want to do this. I don’t care if it puts my magic on hold. It’ll be worth it in the end. I’ve found a new type of magic to perform.”
I hung up before he could talk me out of it. I wasn’t giving up my magic career, I could still perform at parties and events and nothing would change on that end.
It was just that now…now there was a chance that I could become a headlining act.
I couldn’t pass up that chance. No matter how hard it would be. This was the stage. This was the performance of a lifetime. This was the magic show of the new generation. I am a performer. A magician. And no matter where someone performs, there’s always one cardinal rule to follow.
The show must go on.
I still remember them applauding me. But they sort of had to. I was only seven years old, that precious age where you are just old enough to start getting into trouble but just young enough where you can still claim not to have known any better. For my birthday that year I wanted a magic kit. I didn’t know any better at the time, I had just seen some magic set at the dollar store; cheap plastic crap that was somehow worth even less than the one dollar price tag.
Instead I got a book on magic, one meant for beginners. And a few days after my birthday, I made a toothpick disappear using only my hands. Of course as in any magic there’s a ‘trick’ to it, but the point of magic isn’t to find out the trick behind it. It’s to be amazed. It’s to make yourself believe that what you’re seeing is someone who has magical powers. One of the oaths magicians swear by is to never say that they have supernatural powers. That invalidates the entire point of the performance. We’re not witches and wizards. We’re not graduates of Hogwarts. Magic isn’t real, that’s the point. But I’m a magician. My job is to make it seem like magic IS real. To wow. To amaze. To rekindle the awe and imagination in people who are older and more cynical. If I can have one person leaving with a smile, I consider it a job well done.
Magicians may not be rock stars selling out Madison Square Garden, but ours is rare career. Plenty of magicians try to turn it into some comedy act. Fail at stand up? Throw in a few sleight of hand tricks and try again. That way when no one laughs at your joke you can still get applause by pulling a quarter out from behind someone’s ear. Magicians are magicians first, not comedians or musicians or something else used to drum up the act. Magic itself is an amazing thing when done right. Too many people are trying to cheapen the brand.
I may never sell out the Garden and I may never get my own Vegas stageshow, but I love the craft and sometimes that’s all you need. I always thought I’d just be a purist when it came to magic. Adhering to the Magician’s Oath and always showing up with a smile regardless of where it is. A professional. As with any job there are down moments, but even if I sometimes feel like the last of a dying breed, I still wouldn’t give up this profession of mine. And whenever I feel like quitting I simply remember my first magic trick.
My performance at a wrestling fan event was one of those performances that had me thinking of the toothpick disappearing in my hands. I was really missing birthday parties. I’m not sure why this company hired me, a magician, to entertain people before they went in to see an anniversary show. I’m not affiliated with the company in any way. I guess they needed something to fill out the card. Little booth games and autograph signings weren’t enough, toss in a magician why not.
My audience could barely sit still. Kids mostly, but near the back were teens and adults, some there with their kids and some there clearly just to laugh at me. I’m a sideshow to them, some kind of carnival freak. I’m wearing a top hat and there’s a cummerbund around my waist. Add to the black jacket, white dress up collared shirt, fancy black skirt, and my heeled boots and I can’t blame them for their snickering. I’m dressed more for a wedding or a funeral than a magic show. But I’m a traditionalist. The attire is almost as important as the magic.
But this crowd is only here to kill time. Some of them are talking to each other, talking over my act, but what can I do? All I can do is perform. All I can do is cough a dove out of my mouth and make a show of almost letting it fly away; it’s not even a real dove, but from the right distance it’s hard to tell. None of them are fooled. None of them are impressed. Not even when I shove my wand through one ear and pull it out of my boot. But I go on. I perform. The show must go on.
After my show, a few parents came up to me to shake my hand and praise my performance. They’re being polite, bless them. I saw most of them checking their phones every two minutes. I appreciate the gesture, of course, but it rings hollow. Another show finished. Another trip to my van. Welcome to the world of magic.
The company that hired me thought it nicethat in addition to my typical booking fee for events they would give me a ticket to their show. I had thought of just pawning it off, wrestling had never been something that I spent a lot of time watching – my dad was a fan and my sister dated a guy on the wrestling team in high school, that was the extent of my exposure. But when in Rome, right?
It didn’t take me long to understand why the crowd for my show was so uninterested in my performance. Why would they be interested in seeing some top hat wearing woman twirling her hands about when on the regular they watch bodies defy gravity and laugh in the face of injury and pain? Why would they care that I can pull things out of my hat when they are watching people whose mere PRESENCE causes an explosion and fanfare?
This was the new breed of magic show.
Of course I knew that the explosion was just a team of engineers doing a pyrotechnic display, just like how my sister knew that the toothpick I made disappear was really just tucked away behind my hand thanks to being inserted into the loop of a ring I was wearing. But that’s not the point. The fun of magic is in letting your mind believe that what you’re seeing is real. I live in the magic world, so when I see someone appear in a puff of smoke and fire, I don’t just think about the prep work in the pyrotechnics. I believe he is just that kind of person that summons up flames. A magician.
And the crowd can’t get enough. This was magical to them. The people in that ring their magicians. And no one wore a top hat. No cummerbunds and coattails. But magical all the same.
Suddenly I was at my friend’s birthday party again, seeing magic for the first time. Suddenly I remember the feeling of thinking magic was real. And suddenly I’m cheering right along with the crowd. I don’t know who any of these people are…but I’m amazed. I’m mesmerized. I’m in love with magic all over again.
I want to be that.
I want to be that kind of magician.
The sun is down by the time the show ends and I retreat to the safety of my van. I’m smiling like I’ve not smiled before in my life. And this time, I’m the one making the call. Tony Hughes, full time chef, part time manager for Miss Morgan le Faye, is all too happy to pick up my call. Still so full of hope that we’ll get back together, that Tony.
I told him my wish.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
He was not supportive.
His first point was solid. What did I know about wrestling? What did I know about squaring off against one or more person? Sure, I went to the gym but that was to maintain a healthy life rather than for strength training.
But why not me? Why couldn’t I? I’m a performer. I live for the performance, for the thrill of the crowd. I’m a magician. And so were the ones who flew off the ropes. So were the ones who came out in pyro. Magicians with different practices, but magicians all the same.
So why not me?
“Tony…I want to do this. I don’t care if it puts my magic on hold. It’ll be worth it in the end. I’ve found a new type of magic to perform.”
I hung up before he could talk me out of it. I wasn’t giving up my magic career, I could still perform at parties and events and nothing would change on that end.
It was just that now…now there was a chance that I could become a headlining act.
I couldn’t pass up that chance. No matter how hard it would be. This was the stage. This was the performance of a lifetime. This was the magic show of the new generation. I am a performer. A magician. And no matter where someone performs, there’s always one cardinal rule to follow.
The show must go on.
